


Babel

by 77ultracrepidarian77



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Doesn't go well for you, Don't worry he's okay, Hurt/Comfort, In which Warlock finds out why he had such a weird childhood, It's what happens when you mess with the demon's family, Protective Aziraphale, Protective Crowley, Sort Of, Warlock gets kidnapped, Warlock is a little shit but we love him anyways, pg-13 language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24639154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/77ultracrepidarian77/pseuds/77ultracrepidarian77
Summary: After Warlock Dowling is kidnapped, he is rescued by none other than his childhood nanny and gardener. As it turns out, the two staff members that fled shortly after the strange events around his eleventh birthday are more than they appear.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Warlock, Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Crowley & Aziraphale, Crowley & Warlock, Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Comments: 14
Kudos: 82





	Babel

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my very first Good Omens work. I've written at least five other things that I'm planning on publishing on here, but this one's going first so I can gauge how well things are going. Lovely to join the community! Please feel free to comment; I'd love to hear your thoughts! :)

There are more than a few ways to summon a demon.

There is always the traditional method, wherein you draw a big star on the floor using blood and candles and chant in another language. This method is ill-advised, if you are not smarter than a being as old as the Earth itself. *

*Depending upon the demon, this is actually quite possible. Hastur, while certainly cruel, has a room-temperature IQ, if the room is cold enough for one to need a thick jumper and perhaps a pair of gloves.

Another method is to start some chaos. A demon is bound to show up, either to admire the bad work, or actively help to spread it. Certain demons are quite prideful (the finest of the seven sins, according to Hell) and will most certainly jump at the chance to receive a commendation. It is likely that you won’t get much out of this method, but it is the safest way to ensure that your innards do not become your out-ards. It is still a possibility, however.

Yet another method is to kidnap the son of a particular American diplomat. This method is the most dangerous of them all, and should never, under any circumstances, ever be utilized. Statistically speaking, it has a 0% chance of ending in your favor.

*+*+*

Warlock Dowling had had an itch on his nose for the past hour.

He also had a busted lip and a few broken ribs, but after a while those had faded to a dull throb and pained wheezing. He was blindfolded, gagged, and bound tightly in rope, and the men who had crashed his family’s Jeep and dragged him kicking and screaming into another black vehicle had stopped talking. Enough time had passed that his thoughts began to wander into events other than the potential nearness of his own demise.

As he scrunched his nose and sniffed for the fifteenth time in ten minutes, he began to reflect on the life he had lived. It had been pretty meh, all things considered. He’d grown up rich, at the cost of parental affection. They loved him; he was sure they loved him, just not in the way he had hoped. Mom was often busy gossiping with the wives of other government officials, and it was rare that Dad was any less than five thousand miles away from home. Sometimes he got an awkward hug or hair-ruffle, so he supposed it wasn’t all bad.

There had also been Nanny. She was absolutely terrifying, and off her rocker, and she had been there for every scraped knee and bedtime story up until about a month ago, when all that weirdness had happened with Atlantis suddenly appearing and the M25 catching fire. She and Brother Francis (the gardener, who had been equally insane but far less intimidating) had disappeared without so much as a farewell, just before his eleventh birthday. He wondered if she would care too much if he died, from wherever it was she had fled. A small part of Warlock hoped not. Though it hurt to find she had just up and abandoned him, he did still love her quite a bit and didn’t want to think about her being upset.

If he survived this…

He swallowed the lump in his throat, ignoring the uncomfortable dryness of the rag they had jammed in his mouth.

If he survived this, he really wouldn’t mind seeing her again. If only to ask her what he did to make her leave so suddenly.

*+*+*

Something was wrong with the car.

Engine problems, the men seemed to conclude. The two riding in the front went out to investigate, if Warlock’s hearing had not failed him. There was a slight scrabbling as they figured out how to pop the hood (a small button located on the driver’s side, apparently).

Warlock didn’t even have to strain too hard to hear a muffled, _“What the fuck? Where’s our engine!”_

Warlock was quite certain that his mind was beginning to crumble under the pressure of being kidnapped, because there was no way that he was hearing a snake hissing beneath the sound of the men screaming.

The other three, who had been riding in the back with him, were scrambling to open the car door when the vehicle jolted, accompanied by a short burst of screeching metal and the introduction of a cold breeze.

The car door had just been _ripped off._

“Ah,” said a posh, male, and vaguely familiar voice. “There you are. If you gentlemen wouldn’t mind-”

Warlock flinched as the sound of gunfire filled the confined space… or at least, it _did_ until suddenly, it _didn’t_.

Warlock’s chest was on fire at this point, but he couldn’t take in enough air. He felt the car dip just a bit across from him as something came onboard.

“Shh, shh,” said the voice, over his muffled panicking. “It’s alright, my boy. It’s alright.”

The puzzle pieces connected with a near-audible snap. A warm pair of hands removed the covering over his eyes, and had he been able, Warlock would have gaped.

“Whrowher WHRANWHIH?”*

*Brother Francis.

The curly-haired man smiled uneasily, revealing a row of perfectly straight white teeth. “Hello, Warlock. It’s good to see you again.”

Either Brother Francis lost a ridiculous amount of weight, got an amazing plastic surgeon, orthodontist, and hairdresser, or _something else was going on_.

The man flicked his wrist, and suddenly, the ropes around him came undone. Warlock paused for a long moment, but soon scrambled to get rid of his trappings when Brother Francis moved to help pull them away. A pained look entered Brother Francis’s eyes when he saw Warlock back himself against the opposite side of the van.

“It’s really alright, Warlock. We’re here to help you.”

There were more of them. More inhuman… _things_ that could make people disappear with the snap of their fingers. Dread curled in his stomach as he looked out of the rear window of the car to see a tall, lanky figure making its way over.

Brother Francis moved a bit to look over his shoulder, and a bit of relief colored his face as another man came into view. Warlock’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull.

Nanny Ashtoreth took one look at him, and sighed. “Oh, thank _Someone_ you’re alive.”

*+*+*

At least riding in the Bentley was the same. Nanny- if Warlock could even call this creature that- still had a lead foot, and when the key was turned in the ignition, “Under Pressure” began playing faintly over the speakers, until Nanny had swiftly cut the music.

“So,” Brother Francis clumsily began. They had been driving in complete silence for about ten minutes now. Warlock, for the duration of that time, had been stewing in an odd mixture of anger, fear, confusion, and resentment. “How are you?”

If looks could discorporate.

“I’ve been better.”

“Ah.”

While Nanny’s eyes were always covered, he always somehow knew when they were on him- just as they were now, through the rearview mirror. “Ribs aren’t bothering you anymore, though, right?”

Warlock looked away, scowling down at the world zipping past. Even Nanny’s accent was different. “Right,” he mumbled, because on top of shapeshifting, inhuman strength, and the ability to make car engines and people _disappear_ , they could also magically heal wounds.

The two at the front shared a glance, and a silent conversation in which Brother Francis demanded that Nanny say something else. “You’re not going to just sit there and mope the entire drive, are you?” was the outcome.

Warlock felt white-hot rage course through his veins, and he snarled at them through the mirror: “I can do what I _bloody well please_. You… You _liars!_ ”

Nanny’s lips tightened. Two months ago, Warlock would have been scared stiff by that look. A part of him still was, but that part was crushed beneath a mountain of righteous indignation. The car came to a screeching halt on the side of the road, and Nanny whipped around to look him square in the eye.

“I don’t care _what_ you’ve been through, Warlock Dowling. You _will_ fix that tone.”

“Or what?” Warlock challenged. “You’ll turn me into a frog? You’ve already left. You’ve no right to tell me how to behave anymore. You gave that up, remember?”

Nanny’s frown lessened, but only for a moment. “We didn’t leave you by choice.”

“Then why did you?”

It was a wonder that Warlock was still able to sound so angry, even if all he really wanted to do was cry.

Brother Francis turned around. “We didn’t leave because of anything that you did. It was… well, it’s rather a long story. There were certain problems that needed to be dealt with very swiftly, and after we had already left, we felt it would be in your interest if we quit interfering with your life.”

“‘Interfering’?” Warlock set his jaw. “If that’s how you see it, then why be in my life in the first place?”

Another silent conversation seemed to take place in the front seats of the Bentley, before Nanny visibly sagged. “Fine. Fine. If this draws attention, it’s your fault.”

Before Warlock could ask just what that was supposed to mean, there came a snapping of fingers, and suddenly, the car was no longer parked on the side of a country road, but in the middle of a bustling street corner with a bookshop right next door.

“Everybody out,” Nanny said. “If we’re doing this, it won’t be out in the middle of nowhere with no readily available alcohol. _Out_.”

Though it was quite a lot to unpack, Warlock’s first thought was that if Nanny could just conjure them God-knew-where, why conjuring a drink was out of the question. But even if the two questionably-human-ex-staff-members had managed to fake their identities for eleven years, Warlock had always sort of thought that they were a bit stupid. He tarried after watching them hop out of the vehicle, but when Brother Francis opened the door for him with that familiar awkward grin of his, he followed after Nanny Ashtoreth. Given the events that had just transpired, at least he was mostly sure they didn’t plan on murdering him.*

*To be fair, one never really knew with Nanny.

_A.Z. FELL AND CO._ , said the sign above the door. _ANTIQUARIAN AND UNUSUAL BOOKS_. “A bookshop?” Warlock couldn’t help but ask. “Why’re we at a bookshop?”

“It’s mine,” Brother Francis answered. “I’d imagine this is probably the safest spot to have this particular… well, family meeting.”

Warlock pulled a face as if he’d just tasted bile, though the earnest expression on his old gardener’s face stopped him from voicing why. They were, he supposed, family. Even if they’d been lying to him for his entire life and he was very, very angry about it.

An upwards snap of Nanny Ashtoreth’s fingers, a pair of old doors opening, and couple of brewed cups of tea and poured glasses of wine later found them gathered in the private kitchenette behind the cash register. Though Warlock had the very teenage propensity to slouch, he was sitting as ramrod straight as Brother Francis. His childhood nanny, who would have reprimanded him for doing so, was pacing nervously about the room.

“So… obviously, we’re not actually a nanny and a gardener. We’re not human.”

Hearing aloud was still quite jarring. “What are you, then? Wizards? Leprechauns?”

There was a distinct pause.

“You’re not leprechauns.”

“No, we’re not leprechauns,” Nanny Ashtoreth snapped. “And we’re not wizards, either. We’re, uh… Aziraphale and Crowley. Those are… Those are our actual names. I’m not… well, it’s not like we have ‘sexes’ necessarily, but I’m going by male pronouns. For now. And we’ll… we’ll get into what we are in a little bit. But first, I’d like to begin by saying that we’re not going to hurt you.”

“Definitely not,” Br- _Aziraphale_ said.

“And, some of the things we’re about to tell you is might be a little frightening. I promise, we care about you. A great deal. Wouldn’t have rescued you otherwise. If you want to forget all about this when we’re done talking, then… it can be arranged.”

A cold shiver crawled up Warlock’s spine at the last admission.

Crowley took a deep breath. “So… Aziraphale and I are over six thousand years old; which is actually how long humanity’s been around. Our jobs were to act as… well, moral guides. He’d influence humans to be better, I’d influence them to be worse. We became friends over time, and things were pretty normal, up until a little past eleven years ago. That’s when both of our respective sides decided they wanted to start the end of the world. We… didn’t share that sentiment. So… that’s where you come in to play.”

“A child was prophesied destroy the Earth and everyone in it,” Aziraphale said. “The antichrist.”

Warlock’s mouth went dry.

“The plan was for the antichrist to be switched with Harriet Dowling’s child. However, at the same exact time and place as Harriet Dowling, Deidre Young also went into labor in the same convent as her. The actual antichrist wound up with Mrs. Young, and _you_ wound up with the Dowlings.”

“Harriet… Dowling… isn’t my mom.”

Aziraphale shifted. “Ah… no. She is not.”

Warlock held his head in his hands. “You thought I was the antichrist for eleven years.”

“Yes.”

“And the third baby? The baby that _should_ have gone to my not-actual parents?”

Crowley looked away. “We don’t know. The convent burnt down.”

Warlock took a ragged breath in. “And… you both raised me, because?”

“Because we didn’t want the world to end,” Crowley said. “I was assigned to influence your upbringing, make you evil. I asked Aziraphale to be there to even the playing field, so-to-speak. Give the world a fighting chance.”

“How’d you find out I wasn’t the antichrist?”

He wanted to be angry. Somehow, though, this was so like them that he just felt exasperated.

“Well, on the antichrist’s eleventh birthday, he was meant to receive a hellhound to kick off the end of the world. When you didn’t get a hellhound for your birthday, we sort of… panicked. We did find him, eventually.”

“Didn’t even really need to, though,” Aziraphale proudly reported, clasping his wine glass with two hands like a child with a sippy cup. “He decided he liked the world all on his own.”

Warlock stared at Aziraphale long enough that the smile fell from his face and he began to shift uneasily. “Yeah,” Warlock said, his expression frighteningly blank. “How nice of him.”

Warlock clenched his hands tightly in his lap. “Let me get this straight, then.” The seething rage in his voice had returned, tenfold. “You only raised me because I was supposed to be your pawn. You stole me away from the normal life I was supposed to have, then left without even saying goodbye when you realized I couldn’t be the person you wanted me to be. You have lied to me and manipulated me every day since the moment I was born, and the only reason you’re back in my life _now_ is because I was literally about to die. I’m willing to bet that if I did wind up being the antichrist, you’d have killed me, anyways.”

Crowley’s mouth was hanging open. “Warlock, it’s really not like th-”

“No, it _is_.” Warlock’s nails were digging painfully into his palms now. “What I want to know, is why would you even want to save the world?”

Aziraphale sputtered. “We… We couldn’t bear to part with it. Humans- they don’t deserve that kind of ending.”

“So, treating their lives as a game is more than fair, then?”

Crowley’s jaw set. “Now _look here_ , young man-!”

“No, _YOU_ look!” Warlock leapt to his feet. “I spent eleven years thinking you were the only family I ever had, but now I can see how _stupid_ I was.” He turned to glare at Aziraphale. “I don’t care how guilty you feel. I _don’t_ forgive you.”

Aziraphale flinched.

“And _you_.” Warlock rounded on Crowley. The demon stiffened; his expression was unreadable behind his dark sunglasses. Warlock could feel his eyes burning and tears rolling down his chin. His heart was beating painfully in his chest. Memories of goodnight kisses and affectionate pats on the head flashed through his mind. 

_“Warlock, my dear, what story would you like to hear tonight?”_

__

_A five-year-old boy sat up in his bed, hugging his toy space-invader tightly to his chest. “Why does Dad never want to stay home? Doesn’t he love me?”_

__

_His nanny’s face softened. It was a rare and unguarded look, and one he knew she only wore around him when she was certain that nobody else could see it. “He’s a busy man, Hellspawn. I’m sure he loves you very much.”_

__

_“Not as much as you do,” Warlock declared, with the kind of certainty gifted only to either the very young or the very old. “You’d never shoo me away just because some boring politician wanted to talk to you.”_

__

_Nanny paused, then smoothed a thin hand over his bangs and sighed. “Yes, darling, I love you. But look a little closer, and you’ll see that I’m not the only one who cares for you a great deal.”_

Even as he spoke, he thought about how he’d give anything to get just one more hug from either of them.

“I never want to see you again.”

In the next instant, he was out of the door, the sunny chime of the shop’s bell following him as he left.

*+*+*

Warlock had wandered dejectedly about the city for all of thirty minutes before he decided to sit dejectedly on a bench outside of a café. As if the Universe was having a great big laugh at his expense, it began to rain. Dejectedly. 

At the back of his mind, he considered the fact that he was lost in a city that he had never visited before, and at the moment, his family thought he was still kidnapped- or worse. There was also the fact that he did not have any money, nor a cell phone. These were all things that he was sure that he would decide to worry about, give or take an hour or so of moping in public. Rain be damned, he wasn’t moving.

A dark shadow fell over him, and suddenly, the rain ceased to bounce off his brow. Warlock whipped his head to the side and realized that there was a gigantic black wing covering him, attached to a particularly wary demon. “I was going to let you brood a little while longer, but you don’t have an umbrella.”

“You followed me.”

“Of course, I did. I just rescued you from a kidnapping; you think I’m letting you wander the streets alone?”

Warlock sniffed and rubbed his nose with his sleeve. He ignored the part of him that was relieved by this development. “Aren’t you worried people will see?”

Crowley shrugged, wrapping an arm around the back of the bench and, subsequently, behind Warlock’s back. “Nah. People can’t see past the glamour if I don’t give them permission.”

_Fair enough._

“Look,” Crowley said. “You’re pissed off. I get it. I’d be pretty pissed off, too. But it’s really unfair for you to tell me that I don’t care about you. You’re a right pain in the ass, but you’re my pain in the ass, and I’ll be twice-damned if anyone says otherwise.”

“I’m the wrong kid,” Warlock said.

“Yeah? And?” Crowley took off his sunglasses, and for the first time, Warlock looked him directly in the eye. Despite the initial shock of seeing their unnaturally yellow color and slit pupils, he could see exhaustion clear as day. Somehow, this particular demon’s eyes didn’t seem quite so scary. “You don’t spend eleven years dedicated to someone and not love them, even a little. So, you didn’t turn out to be the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon And Many Other Assorted Names. I, for one, am glad for that. If you decided you’d try and destroy the world, and the only way to stop you was to kill you… I know I wouldn’t be able to do it. Granted, when I _found out_ about the mishap with the baby swap, I was filled with a kind of existential dread that is probably unfathomable to you humans… but also relief, too.”

Warlock went quiet.

Crowley continued. “Now. If you’re still very upset with me, I’ll understand. If you’re afraid of me, I’ll understand. If you meant what you said…” he paused and swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. “If you really don’t want to see me ever again, I’ll leave. I just… I just thought you should know that it wasn’t all a lie. We left because we thought we’d wind up hurting you more if we stuck around, and if you knew the truth. It’s up to you. What do you want?”

His eyes started leaking again, the damn things. A couple hours ago, he had thought he was going to die; one of the last things he wanted to do was reconcile with the person sitting next to him.

He turned his head towards Crowley but did not look him in the face. Screw appearances, he could berate himself later. “Can I please have a hug?”

Crowley grabbed him and pulled him tightly to his chest, right as the real waterworks began. God, but if he could just stop crying for at least fifteen minutes today. “I’m sorry about what I said,” Warlock sobbed, burying his face in Crowley’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s alright, kid.” Crowley pat his back. “Even if you had, I wouldn’t be mad at you.”

“Ever since last month, nothing’s been the same, and I was really hurt when you just… just left. And… what am I supposed to do now? My mom has no idea where I am, and Dad…”

“Don’t worry about it.” When Warlock sniffled miserably, Crowley gave him a small squeeze. “I’m serious, Hellspawn. There are perks to having an angel and a demon in your corner. You don’t have to work yourself up so much.”

“Brother F… I mean, Aziraphale. I-I have to go back and apologize.” It was at this moment that real dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he realized: “I’ve pissed off an _actual angel_.”

“Aziraphale is fine. Worried, but fine. He has a thick skin.” When Warlock pulled back, Crowley smoothed the hair out of his face. “Probably don’t test his temper too much, though. His stock tends to get all… smite-y.”

Despite the light, teasing note in his voice, Warlock still furrowed his brow. “Would he? _Has_ he?” In a much smaller voice, he asked: “Have you?”

“Erk. Uh.” Crowley made a complicated face. “So… I _will_ answer that question, but can we go somewhere dry, first?”

Warlock bit his lip. “Does it have to be the bookshop?”

“You’re not really afraid of _Aziraphale_ of all people, are you?” 

“It’s not that I’m afraid,” Warlock answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. “It’s just that… there’s two of you, if we go back.”

Crowley glanced at the wing arched over Warlock’s head, then to the nearby café. He nodded, and quickly withdrew his wing. After they went inside and were soon shown to a booth table, he sent a quick text to Aziraphale’s (newly acquired) mobile*. 

*After Armageddon, Crowley forced him to acquire faster means of communication. It was one thing to remain stubbornly unwilling to adapt to modern times to fit with an aesthetic; it was quite another for said aesthetic to become detrimental to his safety in case of an emergency. As a matter of fact, Aziraphale was playing Candy Crush when he received the text.

Once Warlock slid into the booth and Crowley had automatically ordered a cup of hot chocolate with cinnamon and a black coffee, an uncomfortable silence settled tyrannically over him. A distant part of him knew that at this moment, his mind was supposed to be whirling with questions, but he had gone strangely numb. It seemed like now that he obtained the one piece of closure that he needed before dying, an empty chasm that had opened up before him.

Crowley’s expression was much more easily read, now that his eyes were exposed. Warlock had half expected him to don them once they came near other people, but it seemed that now he was making an exception. What Warlock could see now was concern. 

“You can talk to me, you know,” Crowley said, after a few seconds of watching what could only be called a Face Journey pass over the boy. “Ask me any question. You get a free pass, though I can’t promise I will give you every answer.”

Warlock pretended to look over his menu as he considered what to say. Perhaps it was because of the fact he was staring at pictures of food that he finally blurted out: “Do you eat people?”

Crowley grimaced in revulsion. “No. Ew. I’m just here to tempt people to sin. I don’t usually kill them either, if that’s going to be your next question. Defeats the purpose. Also just seems kind of mean.”

“Demons don’t eat people?”

“Uh…” Crowley winced. “I don’t do that.”

Warlock looked up hesitantly over his menu. “So then… how do you tempt people, exactly?”

“Loads of ways. Back when the Earth wasn’t nearly so populated,” because yes, he had been around since the dawn of time itself, how stupid Warlock was not to have realized, “I could just be that nagging voice at the back of your head. _‘Eat the apple, steal that sheep, sleep with such-and-such,’_ you know? But there came to be so many people, I switched over to a more generalized way of spreading corruption. The M25, for example, is all on me.”

_Eat the apple_ , Warlock thought, a sudden chill running down his spine. _He was the one who got Eve to commit the first sin_.

Well. That explained the snake tattoo.

The waitress came by out of nowhere and caused Warlock to jump nearly out of his skin as she set his cocoa down before him. Crowley thanked her after receiving his coffee, and let Warlock order his food without getting anything for himself.

_“Don’t listen to him. Lisssten to me.”_

“Warlock, are you alright?” Crowley snapped his thoughts back to the present.

He offered Crowley a wobbly smile and concentrated on taking a very long sip of his cocoa. His hands were shaking, he realized numbly. The mug was clumsily set down a bit harder than intended, and Warlock blinked a few times as his vision started to swim. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“Whoa, hey, hey! Warlock, it’s alright! Just breathe, okay? Please?”

His heartbeat and breathing started to slow, and he realized with some amount of dread that Crowley’s hand was on his forehead in a gesture that was vaguely reminiscent of how Aziraphale had healed him. When he flinched away, he didn’t miss the alarmed look on Crowley’s face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You were about to have a panic attack,” Crowley whispered. He drew his hand to his chest, as if he had been burned. “Warlock, you need to be honest with me. What do you want? I can send you back home right this second if this is too much.”

Warlock shook his head hurriedly. “It’s just… a lot to process. Angels a-and… demons.”

“What were you thinking, just now?”

Warlock clenched and unclenched his fists in his lap.

Crowley shifted minutely forward. “Come on, kid. Talk to me. Please.”

“I was thinking that… we must look so small, to you.”

Crowley’s face softened.

He continued. “I remember you telling me that living things are meant to be ground beneath my heels. You’ve been around long enough that humans must be like that to you.”

“That was what I was assigned to tell you,” Crowley said. “And maybe that’s what Heaven and Hell thinks. But you listen to me right now, Warlock Dowling, and you listen well. Aziraphale and I understand something that they don’t: humans are _terrifying_.”

Warlock looked up, puzzled.

Crowley’s serpentine eyes practically glowed in the yellow light of the café. “Remember Bible school, yeah? Eve ate the apple from the Tree of Knowledge. As far as reasoning goes, humans are on par with demons and angels. But there are two things that your lot _has_ that our lot, for the most part, sorely _lacks_. Try and guess what they are.”

“One of them has to be free will.”

Crowley snapped at him and made a finger-gun. “Bingo. Hence the tempting. But see, here’s the thing: Aziraphale and I are, from what I know, the only agents that have been on Earth this long. Think about where everyone else has to live: Upstairs, or Downstairs. Their jobs usually fall under two categories: sorting out the affairs of the deceased or plotting out new schemes for the not-yet-deceased. That’s it. That’s…” Crowley blew a raspberry. “I mean, what else is there? It’s nothing like Earth. There’s nothing to really puzzle over, nothing new going on aside from what’s going on with their jobs.”

Heaven and Hell, Warlock decided, did not sound like fun. This was troubling.

“Meanwhile Aziraphale and I have been right here along with you lot for the ride. The invention of the wheel, the first computer, the first dildo. Wars, civilizations, automobiles, rockets. _Terrifying_.”

Warlock blinked, partially because he never expected to hear the word ‘dildo’ come out of his childhood nanny’s mouth. Ever. “Wait, wait, wait. What’s so terrifying? It’s just… just progress.”

Crowley sipped his coffee, which could not have cooled down to a drinkable enough temperature for the huge draught that he took. “Think about it this way. One of us can go up to a ruler and suggest that they destroy a city. A human will go out and actually _do it_. And as time goes on, a human will get _better at it_. Starts out with a big army of people with pointy sticks and progresses until you get an atomic bomb. Wanna know what the really scary thing is? Sometimes they just go out and do it without any sort of influence on our part at all.”

A plate of food was set in front of Warlock. He did not even so much as glance at it.

“Aziraphale and I often talk about these developments. The cell phone: ‘Was that my lot or your lot?’ But it’s not really either of us: we didn’t put the little metal bits together; we didn’t zap it with electricity. We don’t create, not like we used to. We still use the same tricks to get our jobs done, while humans have gone from living in mud huts to skyscrapers.”

Warlock pointed his fork at Crowley. “You could go out and destroy a city, though, couldn’t you?”

Crowley rotated his hand in an ‘eh’ gesture. “I mean, I _could_ destroy a city, sure. Make a volcano erupt or get a meteor shower or something. That would require lots of clearance, though. It’s not like I can just go out and wreak havoc willy-nilly; there would have to be a purpose, and big miracles are really draining, so I’d definitely need Hell to lend some power. Anyways, my point is that humans aren’t naturally equipped to deal the kind of damage an angel or a demon could do, but you got yourselves to that point using nothing but the chunk of meat sitting in your skulls. So, yeah, I think you’re small. I think you’re fragile. I think you’re all these tiny little meat sacks that were unceremoniously dumped in a desert that somehow removed yourselves from the food chain and dominated an unforgiving planet, and I think that deserves the utmost respect.”

Warlock took a moment to process the fact that _wow, he really watched the progress of human civilization_ , then took a slow bite out of his pancake. Hundreds of questions were buzzing through his mind, and he was just about to settle on one when Crowley spoke up again.

“Not to put you on the spot or anything, but you sure you’re doing alright?”

Warlock sighed, stabbing lightly at his eggs and making the yolk run everywhere. “You gonna keep asking me every five minutes?”

“Until I’m convinced that you are, yes. I mean, we haven’t even talked about the fact that you were kidnapped a few hours ago.” Crowley straightened suddenly, then leaned in. “They didn’t, uh… What I mean to ask is: what happened, exactly?”

“Just roughed me up a little,” Warlock said. “Crashed our car. Mom and I…” Could he still even call her that, knowing what he knew? “We were going to some stupid charity event. Honestly, I don’t really remember everything; they put the blindfold on pretty quick, and then the gag after I told this one guy that his tattoo looked stupid.” He omitted the fact that that had earned him a couple of cracked ribs and a black eye. Crowley seemed proud of the fact that he had insulted his kidnappers, and while Warlock still didn’t know what to think about quite a few things, at least now he knew that he still cared what his old nanny thought of him.

Even as Crowley nodded in sympathy, Warlock caught a small glimmer of relief in his expression. “Good.” When Warlock frowned, Crowley quickly added: “I mean, not good that you were hurt. Just… good they didn’t take it as far as they could have.”

Warlock’s gut did an icy flop as a sudden thought occurred to him. He remembered the sound of screaming, and the fact that the men had literally disappeared into the night. “Na-… I mean, _Crowley_ , did… did you kill them?”

Crowley flinched a little, leaning back in his seat again. “Uh… I was a little worried about you, so… I may have taken exception to the fact they put you in danger.”

Warlock stared at him. “You killed them.”

“Eh…” Crowley awkwardly cleared his throat. “Yeah.

“But I thought you didn’t kill people?”

“Not normally, but they hurt you. Can’t really say what Aziraphale did to the rest. If I had to guess, I’d say they were probably transported somewhere either random or unpleasant. Or both.”

This, among the many other things that Warlock had heard throughout the night, was something that took the least amount of time to process. When Warlock was very young, he came to realize that there were three things you should never do around his nanny:

1\. You do not say nice things to plants.  
2\. You do not refer to her as “nice” or “kind” in any capacity.  
3\. You do not ask her about anything about her past. Not because she would react negatively, but because you would find out too much and would begin to wonder how on God’s Green Earth she was ever allowed to care for a small child, especially with the background check that his family must have run on her.

He had gotten to the last of his hot chocolate, and he didn’t think he could stomach another bite of his food. But there was still one last thing he wanted to know before he left the café.

“Why would you do that?”

“What, kill people for hurting you?” Crowley’s brow furrowed. “I thought I made it pretty clear that I care about you quite a bit.”

“Yeah, but you’re older than dirt. Literally.”

“Thanks.”

Warlock ignored his sarcasm. “My point is, why would you care about one human? You must have seen so many just… die. It’s got to be painful for you.”

“Oh, yeah.” Crowley’s eyes glazed over for a moment. “It’s really painful. I’ve had thousands of human friends kick the bucket over the years. It never gets easier to lose people, even with experience. You just learn to move on with the gaping hole they leave behind in your heart.”

Crowley focused back on Warlock and sighed. “Eve was the first friend I ever made. Aziraphale came way, _way_ later, even though we met only a little after you lot were sent out of the Garden. When she died, it was so painful that I actually thought my corporation was going to die. After about a week of getting pished out of my mind, I came to the realization that that’s another thing I was never, ever going to give up. Despite knowing you’re going to wind up losing the people you love someday, that should never deter you from loving them anyways. You humans taught me that.”

And then Warlock said: “Can I spend the night over with you two?”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to the Biblical story about the Tower of Babel in Genesis.


End file.
